Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “Hey, Rhoyan!” Ky waved a hand in front of his younger brother’s face. “Snap out of it!”

  “Sorry Ky,” Rhoyan said, “I was thinking about something else.”

  “Obviously,” Ky said, a little harshly.

  Rhoyan glanced up, Ky looked a little stung, and he suddenly felt ashamed for not listening better. “I’m sorry Ky,” he apologized, “that really is wonderful that you’ve been raised to Kestrel. Who are you going to be apprenticed to?”

  “Lord Nills. I’m supposed to leave for his manor the day after next. It’s a great honor, he’s the King’s Champion, you know.”

  Rhoyan bit his tongue on the response that sprang to his lips. He hated it when Ky treated him like he knew nothing, as was his wont lately, but he kept his retorts to himself. He also wished Ky did not feel such a need to flaunt his successes. The older boy was forever attempting to express how worthy he was, as if he had a deep need for Rhoyan’s approval. Rhoyan could have told him he did not need to try so hard, that Ky always had been and always would be his hero. But Rhoyan did not say any of this; he knew saying it would only make things worse.

  “I know who Lord Nills is,” he replied. “That’s fantastic, congratulations!”

  There was an awkward pause. The silence stretched between them uncomfortably.

  “Hey,” Ky’s tone was subdued, almost conciliatory.

  He feels it too, Rhoyan thought sadly, he knows there’s a gulf between us, but like me, he knows nothing about bridge-building.

  Ky was still speaking, “We should go down to the caves. It’s a beautiful day out. I bet Lita would be happy to make us lunch like she used to; we haven’t done that in awhile. Well? What do you say? For old time’s sake?”

  Rhoyan hesitated, on the verge of declining the offer. He really did have a lot to do before lessons started up again at the end of the week, and he was still worrying about his new teacher. But then he looked up at Ky and saw a flash of longing in his older brother’s eyes. In that flash he saw an image of the old Ky and he found he couldn’t refuse.

  “Sure, why not?”

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Rhoyan approached the iron doorway, his feelings a mixture of excitement and trepidation. All he knew about his new teacher was his name, and that he was an expert in the subject of mythology. Master Hobard had been reluctant to tell Rhoyan anything else.

  “Master Sheyardin is... eccentric...” was all Hobard would say whenever Rhoyan asked.

  Rhoyan strode up to the door, his nervousness mounting with each step. He was desperately trying to command his hand to stop trembling. It did not help that the door swung open before he actually knocked. Rhoyan stared nervously down the dark hall that presented itself. He drew in a deep breath, remembering his most recent conversation with Master Hobard.

  “Don’t worry if strange things happen around Master Sheyardin. He is not always what he seems.”

  Rhoyan had looked at his old master in concern. “Do I really need these lessons?”

  Master Hobard had nodded firmly. “There is more to this world that you live in than what you have seen so far. There is a whole world of different people and places out there and it is your duty to learn about all of them.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do I need to have these lessons? Why doesn’t Ky have to go to Master Sheyardin? I’m just the second son; Ky’s the one who will be king.”

  Master Hobard had not been able to meet Rhoyan’s gaze, instead he had stared down at his shoes and muttered, “Yes, well, there is that.”

  After that, the old master had refused to answer any more questions. He had simply given Rhoyan directions to Master Sheyardin’s place and told him to be on his best behavior. As he left, Rhoyan had tried to make one final attempt to find out something about his new teacher.

  “Master Hobard, this Sheyardin that you’re sending me to, well... he's… safe… right?”

  “Safe enough,” was all that Hobard would say.

  Rhoyan now stood staring down the long, dark hallway of Master Sheyardin’s home. I’m the prince, he thought to reassure himself, they wouldn’t send me anywhere truly dangerous. He took a trembling step into the dimly lit corridor and the door swung shut behind him with a clang that made him jump. A flicker of light flashed to his right and suddenly there was a small torch in front of him.

  “Oh my, the new student!” a squeaky voice cried out. “I had completely forgotten! I am sorry Your Highness; I hope you will forgive me?”

  Rhoyan nodded, peering around in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the speaker. “Yes, of course.”

  “Oh good! Follow me then, Master Sheyardin is waiting in the library,” the torch swung about and started up the dark hallway.

  Rhoyan made as though to follow the speaker, but then stopped. His muscles felt as though an icy wind had just whipped through them. The torch was not being carried by anyone at all. The sight of the unassisted object floating merrily down the corridor shook him right out of his senses. He stared, his brain racing numbly, trying to rationalize what he was seeing. The light was getting farther away when Rhoyan came to himself.

  “Nothing for it,” he muttered. He strode after the weird phenomenon, not wanting to be left alone in the dark.

  He was led to a large, dimly lit, but welcoming room filled with bookshelves. The shelves lined every wall and each one stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Even the castle library did not hold so many books. Rhoyan stared up at the shelves in awe, and suddenly realized he did not recognize a single title. Then he realized he could not even read some of the titles.

  “Be thou welcome, young princcce.”

  Rhoyan jumped, startled by the deep, hissing voice. In his awe of the library he had almost forgotten why he was here. Although the words had been said quietly, they seemed to penetrate his very being with their force and authority. Rhoyan fought the urge to bow to this new voice, and instead turned to see who had addressed him.

  The owner of the voice was a tall, willowy man who wore bright green robes that flashed with silver when he moved. He had spiky gray hair and steel gray eyes. His face was youthful and his eyes blazed with an inner fire. The man was sitting in a strangely shaped chair made out of some kind of stone. He was holding an ornate book, but Rhoyan could not read the title of this tome either. The man clapped his hands once, and a chair scooted across the room and stopped behind the prince.

  “Prithee, sssit,” the tall man’s voice was kind, but it was not a request.

  Rhoyan sat, feeling dazed.

  “Introductionsss firssst,” the man said, then he sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “Ahem, thou art Prince Rhoyan of the house of Arne, the son of the noble eagle, and the fulfiller of the ancient prophecy.” Rhoyan noticed that the hissing quality of the man’s voice had subsided, though he still spoke in an archaic dialect. However, he was distracted by the mention of a prophecy.

  “I am called Master Sheyardin, but thou wilt simply call me Sheyardin. The concept of a title such as ‘Master’ is for those who need a title to win their students’ respect. I, however, have all the respect I require,” the man stopped speaking and looked at Rhoyan expectantly, making him feel as though he ought to say something in response to this.

  “M-m… Sheyardin,” Rhoyan said, stammering a little, “what did you mean about a prophecy?”

  “They haven’t told thee about that yet? I thought not,” Sheyardin mused thoughtfully. “No, they wouldn’t have, I suppose. Perhaps that is wise... I shall have to ask the minstrel next time I see him...” the man trailed off and stared intently at the space above Rhoyan’s head.

  “Mythology!” Sheyardin barked suddenly. “What do you know of it?”

  “N-nothing, sir.”

  “No doubt. No doubt,” Sheyardin mumbled. “It is oftentimes neglected in most of the regular studies.”

  There was a long silence, during which Rhoyan had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being st
udied or compared to something. He sat up straighter and attempted to look smart, wondering if he measured up to whatever standard it was that he was being compared to. Finally, Sheyardin nodded.

  “Thou wilt be satisfactory,” he said abruptly, “thou art young enough to believe, and old enough to understand, which means thou wilt be able to learn, methinks. Hobard was right to send thee to me now.”

  “Learn what? If you please, sir?”

  Sheyardin stared at him as though completely mystified. “Learn what? Why, mythology of course!”

  “Yes,” Rhoyan tried hard to keep his temper, “but what is mythology? And why do I have to learn it?”

  “Thou must learn it because of thy prophecy. As for what it is, well, that is what thou shalt be coming to class for, every day after lunch, methinks,” Sheyardin said. “Yes, after lunch, that shall be just fine,” he spoke almost as if to himself, then he leaned back and focused his full attention on his book.

  The air of finality in the teacher’s voice announced to Rhoyan that he was dismissed. Feeling puzzled and frustrated, Rhoyan stood up to leave. The floating torch whisked over to guide him back to the front door. Rhoyan made to follow his odd guide, so confused that he was no longer even fazed by the self-moving furniture, when Sheyardin looked up from his book.

  “There are several books in thine own library thou canst read to prepare for thy first class, thou wilt find them in the section entitled: ‘Mythical Creatures, Fact or Fiction?’” Sheyardin spoke this as though it were an afterthought. “I do not believe that I shall give thee specific titles, sometimes one can get more answers when one doth not know what one is looking for. That is thy first lesson, and that one is free. Thou must needs study and work hard for the rest of them.”

  Rhoyan nodded, his head beginning to feel fuzzy. He had the oddest feeling that Master Sheyardin was laughing at him, but he could not figure out why. On his way back to the palace, Rhoyan determined to spend every spare minute reading every title in the mythology section of the library. Next time he met Sheyardin, the old man would have no cause to laugh at him.

  Rhoyan’s trip to the library proved to be disappointing. The section of books on mythology was small and limited. The books themselves, however, were fascinating. Mythology, Rhoyan soon discovered, was the study of those things that were considered to be myths. Magic, unicorns, dragons, gryphons, wizards, prophecies, and other such lore was what the subject revolved around. Riddles and logic would be a large part of his new lessons as well. Creatures of the mythical realm appreciated logic and common sense and magic was often linked to riddles. Rhoyan did not know if he believed that such things were truly real, but his imagination was captured instantly by the idea of it, and he waited impatiently for his next class with Sheyardin.

  Rhoyan’s days fell into a busy, but happy schedule. He spent his mornings in the practice yard, honing his skills in the warrior arts until lunch-time. After a quick lunch he would sprint over to Master Sheyardin’s for two hours. The late afternoon was spent in Master Hobard’s classroom, learning practical subjects such as geography and history. It was after dinner that Rhoyan worked on his horsemanship skills. He would spend that hour of riding learning how to leap onto an already moving horse, how to swing down and ride underneath the horse, how to command his mount in the midst of battle, and how to use his skills in swordsmanship and archery while at a full gallop.

  The best lessons of the day were at Master Sheyardin’s. There, Rhoyan was learning how to read, write, and speak in the Dragon Tongue, which was called Old Kraïc. He was learning the histories of dragons and other myth-folk that most people would have scoffed at as children’s tales. He also learned practical information about the lands to the west across the Stained Sea; one of which was called Aom-igh, where Sheyardin claimed most of the magic in the world was still practiced. He learned that there were many other lands beyond the Stained Sea and there were regions to the east, beyond the Arne Ocean as well. Thanks to Uncle Ramius’ sea stories, Rhoyan was already familiar with the lands to the south. He learned names of all the known countries and their major industries and exports. Everything he learned fascinated him and he thirsted for as much as Sheyardin could tell him.

  “I’m going to travel to all of them!” Rhoyan declared one day. “I want to see these places! I want to see the dragons and the gryphons. I want to meet wizards and fight battles and sail the seas.”

  Sheyardin chuckled. “And so thou shalt.”

  “Why don’t the myth-folk live in Llycaelon? Why isn’t there any magic here?”

  “Llycaelon is a land that relies on strength alone,” Sheyardin said quietly, in a tone that seemed to be filled with sorrow, “the finer arts hath been all but lost here.”

  “But you have magic, why haven’t you forgotten these things?”

  “I said they were all but lost, young prince, I did not say that they did not exist. In fact, I am surprised that thou did not know anything of this subject before coming to learn from me.”

  “How could I?”

  “Many truths exist in the fabric of lies.”

  “You like riddles far too much.”

  Sheyardin laughed. “Everything that thou must learn here has its foundation in riddles. The myth-folk love riddles and secrets because they provide amusement and can generate interesting conversation. Even more importantly these riddles and secrets are the key to survival. Memory of the myth-folk and magic still exists in Llycaelon; it doth dwell in the guise of superstition and fairytales. This serves the myth-folk well; as long as people who fear them do not believe that they truly exist, they can remain safe.”

  “Safe?”

  “Thou hast much to learn about people, lad. What lies directly to our west?”

  “The Stained Sea.”

  “Yes. It is the greatest reminder of the harm that misunderstanding and fear can accomplish together.”

  “Why is everyone afraid of the Stained Sea? Why don’t we cross it?”

  “I suppose I can teach thee that today, if you truly seek understanding. But I warn you, everything you hear from me is true. Your strength or lack of understanding will depend entirely on your response to that claim. I intended this discussion for further days ahead, but since thou doth bring it up now…” Sheyardin gazed out the window as he began the story, “Many years past and long ago, well, I suppose it was a long time by human standards, but to the myth-folk it was a mere eye-blink ago: nine hundred years ago, to be precise. There was fought a great battle between the aethalons and the myth-folk who lived in Llycaelon. Both sides were equally to blame, and both sides firmly maintained their innocence. In any event, sides were chosen and lines were drawn. Some of the myth-folk stood on the side of the aethalons, and some of the humans stood on the side of the myth-folk, but that made little difference in the outcome.

  “The battle resulted from a skirmish over property rights between myth-folk and humans. I’m sure you can envision the difficulty of two such varied races living side by side. What is livestock and livelihood to one, is prey to another. Anger and deep-seated mistrust flared on both sides and nothing was resolved.

  “Shortly thereafter, a shepherd killed a myth-creature that was attacking his cattle and a widespread, cruel war was unleashed. The war raged on until the last battle was met on the ocean shore. There, the king of the dragons had flown, intending to mediate the dispute and end the madness. He was shot down by arrows from both armies before he ever reached the shore, both sides turning on him, each believing he was coming to help the other side. As he fell, dying, into the sea, it is believed that he whispered a curse with his last breath and it is his blood that still stains the sea today.

  “The aethalons won the day, and most of the myth-folk retreated to the east, mourning the loss of their king. Those who remained went into hiding, taking human form or going underground, as they were no longer welcome.”

  Rhoyan was intrigued by the implications of the story. “So anyone
could be a myth-creature in disguise?”

  “Not anyone,” Sheyardin chuckled, “for example, thou art not one.”

  “But there’s no way to tell?”

  “Of course there is a way to tell! Or what would be the point of your lessons here? The myth-folk hide their true forms badly, even the ones who are born in human form and have no knowledge of their heritage. One canst spot them easily once one hath met enough of them. Forsooth, dragons, being the strongest of the myth-folk, are the most difficult to spot because the magic of shape shifting is easiest for them. However, dragons are a proud group and do not fit into other forms well. Despite their power, their pride ever gives them away; it is easy to spot them when they try to take the form of other myth-folk, they almost always get the shape wrong or leave a shimmer of scales somewhere. When they take human form, they usually have unnaturally bright red hair and golden or silver eyes. They are often tall and lean, and love brightly colored clothing. A dragon who is born in human form and knows not his heritage is far more difficult to detect, but there is always something in the eyes of a creature that belies its appearance and reveals its true nature. By the eyes, then, canst thou tell if a stranger be dragon, gryphon, unicorn, pegasus, wizard, or human.”

  “Will you teach me to tell the difference?”

  “When I am finished instructing thee, thou wilt be able to discern the truth amidst the lies that thou must needs encounter,” Sheyardin promised. “Forsooth, that is perhaps the most important lesson I intend to teach thee. The most difficult part of identifying the myth-folk is understanding that they exist in the first place. Once that is accepted, identifying them becomes quite simple.”

  The next day Rhoyan remembered a question that had been tickling at the back of his memory for some time. “What was the prophecy that you spoke of my first day here?” Rhoyan asked. “Who spoke it? And what did it say?”

  Sheyardin looked sideways at Rhoyan, a curious glint in his strange gray eyes. “My father spoke thy prophecy, nearly five hundred years ago, though he was not the first to speak the words, he was the first to say them in Llycaelon.”